


Seek It With Thimbles- Seek It With Care: An Ordinary Work-Outing in Metropolis

by DarkwingSnark



Series: BTAS Ask-Blog Universe [15]
Category: Batman: The Animated Series
Genre: (Which gives it a higher rating), Heist, M/M, Metropolis (DCU), OCs don't matter they're more for world building, Working Vacation, askverse, one character desperately trying to woo another
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-11-02 07:21:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20666357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkwingSnark/pseuds/DarkwingSnark
Summary: Jonathan Crane and Jervis Tetch make preparations to procure chemicals needed for one of the Scarecrow's newest formulas. This takes them out of Gotham to its sister city: Metropolis. It was a simple plan: create an alibi, take what they need, and try to enjoy themselves along the way. Naturally, shenanigans occur.Who says you can't mix business with pleasure?





	Seek It With Thimbles- Seek It With Care: An Ordinary Work-Outing in Metropolis

**Author's Note:**

> Ah yes, more RP shenanigans that happened behind the scenes of the blog. Mostly posting for archive purposes.  
Mad Hatter: https://askthemadhatter.tumblr.com/  
Scarecrow: https://askthescarecrow.tumblr.com/
> 
> Since the new policy change, and the wife not recalling the email she used back in the day for this account, I can't officially give her co-credit. HOWEVER, know that Moonie (Moonbeamcat/swampy-tiefling) IS co-writer.

The Victorian styled home was the only house around for miles, the vastness of the fields surrounding it only adding to the strangeness of the sudden shift in the design. Weeping willows surrounded the estate, adding a canopy of privacy. Jervis Tetch couldn’t help the pleased expression that came over him as the truck pulled into the driveway-- the sound of the gravel crunching in movement under the weight of the vehicle just background noise as the Englishman looked the place over. A wooden sign swayed gently in the wind, the golden script read: _ the Duckworth Family Inn _.

Just the place they were looking for.

The two passengers emerged from the safety of the truck, bags in hand of all that would be required for their weekend away from Gotham City. Jervis couldn’t help the fond look he gave his partner as Jonathan Crane attempted to carry everything under his arms-- no doubt to minimize having to return once they were checked into their room. Not that he planned on scolding him, _heavens no_. Tetch imagined waking up earlier than usual, mixed with packing and driving on the road for nearly two hours straight was enough to make even the most _patient_ individual ready to relax in bed.

Jervis opened the door to the Inn, so as to let the taller man inside and set down their things. The entrance was just as welcoming as the outside, the foyer room having been converted into a sign-in station. A desk sat, empty, the only thing that greeted them was a little statue of a bronze duck holding a ‘WELCOME!’ plaque. Hatter smiled at it, even as he went to gently ring the bell that sat at its feet.

“Hello, anybody home?” The Englishman called, his voice echoing slightly throughout the room. Jervis turned to his partner, a brow raised.

“You don’t suppose we caught them while they were out and about? I made sure to put down what time we would be arriving when I did the registry online...”

“Hm.” Crane pulled down his sunglasses to peek over them at the empty sign in desk. He then took them off completely, tucking one bow into the front of his shirt, leaving them to hang there. The sunglasses and a simple hat were his entire “disguise” for this trip. While he had no doubts that the people of Metropolis knew of the Scarecrow, it was unlikely any of them knew Jonathan Crane.

“Well, I suppose we could always return later.” He replied with a sigh that sounded far more weary than he felt. “I hear they’ve got a lovely bookstore just--”

“No need, no need, I’m here, I apologize.” Crane frowned at the elderly man shuffling in from the next room, but said nothing.

“I was helping my wife in the kitchen, you see, we haven’t had visitors in awhile, she gets so excited, _bless her_. I hope you like cinnamon buns. Now let’s see here...” The man had seated himself behind the desk, adjusting his glasses and squinting down at the open book that sat atop it.

“Mr. Tenniel and Mr. Koontz?” He looked up, grinning with teeth that were very obviously fake. Crane had to bite his tongue before he questioned aloud as to why their reservation had been written in a book when they were made on the computer.

“Yes!” Jervis responded enthusiastically, getting a jump on things before his partner could give him a knowing look about the names that were chosen. “I’m Tenniel, the one who booked the room. Do you suppose it wouldn’t be much trouble for us to go ahead and store our luggage? It’s been a long drive, you see…”

“_Say no more._” The owner of the Inn replied, the nod he gave bobbing his glasses some, as he pushed them back into place. “Let me help you folks with your things, and I’ll show you straight to your room.”

“Oh, you need not **trouble** yourself--” Jervis began, getting cut off as the older gentleman made his way around the desk, already picking up the bags at Jonathan’s feet.

“None of that, son. It’s the Duckworth policy-- treat your customers as if they were your own family.” Mr. Duckworth gave a heavy heave of breath as he straightened himself up, his rotund stomach jutting forward as he carried the bags under his arms-- otherwise looking as though he was handling carrying things far easier than Jonathan had before. He smiled, tilting his head towards the stairs. 

“Now come along, boys, and we’ll get you all set up in the Citrus Suite.”

And it was with that he waddled onward, his steps loud on the wooden floors. Hatter merely gave his Hare a look, before following close behind.

“Your home is quite lovely.” Jervis conversed politely. “The Green Bachelor Button wallpaper is quite becoming.”

“Is **that** what it’s called?” The old man laughed, making his way down to the end of the hall. “Wife just says it’s floral, and leaves it at that. Learned long ago never to question Coral on these sorts of things.” 

It wasn’t too much longer that they reached the room, door open wide and waiting for them.

“Here we are,” Mr. Duckworth grunted, setting the bags onto the bed. “Make yourselves at home. Once you boys get settled, come on down and meet the missus. She’ll wanna get to know ya’ll before she starts on dinner.”

The old man clapped Jervis politely on the shoulder, before closing the door behind him. Leaving the two rogues alone to themselves. Tetch hummed after his departure.

“He seemed rather _nice_, wouldn’t you say?”

Jonathan’s eyes trailed from the bright yellow wallpaper to the singular bed in the middle of the room, and raised an amused brow.

“Yes, quite polite.” Men who learned to mind their own business had a tendency to live ** _so_ ** much longer, in Crane’s experience. “The room, certainly is ... **colorful**. Why, it almost seems as if, perhaps, you’re tired of looking at grey cement and brown bricks.”

A mock frown attempted to accompany this, but the slight smirk won out.

Jervis scoffed indignantly, though the other man could clearly tell he, too, was playing a part in their act.

“Oh, _ hush _ , love. You know I enjoy our home well enough.” Jervis walked over to the bags, going to the one where he kept his civilian clothes for the weekend. The Englishman began pulling them out, laying them onto what appeared to be a handmade quilted bedspread. “That said, when I was offered my choice based on what was available, I must admit the name **did** spark an appeal. _ Citrus Suite. _ It’s charming: and you know how I feel about **that**.”

Jervis picked up his clothes, heading towards the wardrobe that was provided for the room-- placing them within the bottom drawers.

“Besides… I figured the distance from Metropolis should allow enough of a head start once we, ah, **procure** the things you need from S.T.A.R Labs. Sensibility took play with the choice of staying here, _ I assure you _ . I would have been **just** as satisfied with white walls, _ thankyouverymuch _.”

“Mm, yes, I’m sure.” Jonathan replied, laying himself across the bed and staring up at the ceiling. The atmosphere here really was a nice change of pace. Although unlikely to admit it, he did enjoy the rare occasions he got to pretend he was living a comfortable life as an ordinary citizen.

Even if the giddy excitement over the thought of infiltrating S.T.A.R. Labs the night after ** _was _ ** tingling in the back of his mind. No, it was less the theft and more what he’d get to do with what they procured that had him excited. His little chat with Jervis had certainly ... _ inspired _him.

Crane sat up and stretched, sliding off the bed.

“Are you finished, then, Mr. Tenniel?” Crane questioned. “Wouldn’t want to keep our hosts _ waiting. _”

Jervis had been finishing unpacking things-- putting Jonathan’s clothes into the top drawer, so as his partner wouldn’t need to worry himself with bending so severely. ( Forever the one to worry.) He left their costumes and supplies within the bags, picking them off the bed as he put the luggage in the closet for safe keeping.

Hatter turned back to the taller man, amused by the use of his alias.

“Testing out the name, are you, Mr. Koontz?” He drew himself towards Crane, adjusting his collar more for the excuse of being close than for truly seeing things out of place. “Although, perhaps you should call _ me _ John, love. They may find it... **strange** to be so close and still refer to each other by surname alone.”

Jervis ran his hands over Jonathan once more, allowing himself to take in the sturdiness of his Hare’s frame, before turning around and heading towards the door. The Englishman opened it, sweeping his hand towards the exit in welcome.

“After you, _ Edgar _.”

“John? _ Hmph. _ ” Jonathan scoffed and rolled his eyes, but the smirk that accompanied it gave away his apparent amusement. “You are sure something like _ Honeybunch _ or _ Sugarbear _ wouldn’t be more _ fitting _?” He muttered teasingly as he passed by and continued down the stairs.

The smell of cinnamon buns was already heavy in the air, and a part of Crane silently lamented on how they likely wouldn’t be available until after dinner was through. It was almost as if he were nine again, living at home with mom and dad, knowing he had to comply to rules set in place.

The only difference here was, he doubted he’d be able to talk dear old “mother” into letting him bend said rules. Oh, no matter. He was an adult, he didn’t **need **dessert for dinner.

It was once the two were down the stairs that they heard a woman’s voice calling from the other room.

“In here, boys!” Mrs. Duckworth sing-songed in greeting. Jervis and Jonathan made their way through to the other side of the house, where the dining room waited. Double doors were opened, and there they could see the likes of the owners of the inn-- sitting at the table.

“Come in, come in!” The woman called, getting up from her seat as if she planned on escorting the likes of the two villains to the table herself. She was lithe in body, and even her older age didn’t seem to deter the graceful way she navigated through the room.

Tetch, just as polite as ever, smiled as he made her acquaintance. He took her hand, patting it affectionately.

“Thank you ever so much for hosting us during our stay. You have a beautiful home, madame.”

“Oh, as I live n’ breath-- a real gentleman!” This was followed by what could only be described as a girlish laugh, very pleased by the attention. “You hear that, Vern? Called me ‘madame’ and everything.” Another laugh, as she surprised the Englishman with giving him a hug that held strength it didn’t seem as though she should possess. “No need for that, hun. Please, call me Coral. Everyone does!”

“Yes, of course: Coral.” This was said in a puff of air, as Jervis had to take a moment to right himself. Hatter could tell she was about to go in and give his partner the same treatment, when he quickly intervened.

“Ah, **yes** . Edgar isn’t one for such embraces.” He leaned in to whisper, as if he didn’t wish for Jonathan to hear. “ _ Back troubles, you know. _” Jervis straightens up once more, gently resting a hand on the taller man’s arm. “Yet, I’m sure he’s just as pleased to be here; isn’t that **right**, dear?”

The hand on Crane’s arm alerted him that he was being addressed, his eyes shifting away from the tray of cinnamon buns on the table, to the woman. Coral, yes. He managed a small, short lived smile.

“Yes, you’ve really managed to create a very, welcoming environment.”

Coral made another noise of giddy satisfaction, and Crane visibly flinched when she stepped over to him, sure he was about to be crushed in an embrace. Instead, she reached up and affectionately patted his cheek with her hand-- which was perhaps _worse_.

“Oh, you two are just the sweetest! I need to go check on dinner, dears, but help yourself to some buns while you wait. I won’t tattle!” She turned to tip them a wink before disappearing back into what Crane assumed was the kitchen.

“My, she’s certainly .._ . energetic. _” Crane muttered, reaching up to rub at his cheek without thinking about it. Vern gave a hearty chuckle at that. Crane attempted another smile as he glanced at the man.

“How ** _do_ ** you keep up.” He questioned, playfully. This prompted another chuckle from Vern, and he shook his head.

“I manage! Love finds a way. You know.” He nodded toward both of them, and Crane frowned, suddenly feeling a little awkward. He grabbed a bun and didn’t reply.

Jervis, meanwhile, takes a seat closest to Mr. Duckworth-- so as to allow Jonathan some distance if he chose to sit-- as he began to speak.

“_I beg your pardon_, Mr. Duckworth--”

“Vernon.” The man interrupts, though with friendly intentions. Hatter nods.

“Vernon, then. I happen to notice throughout the home there’s been quite the number of duck related collectibles. Is that a play on your name, or…?”

At this the owner perks up more, a look of pride as he turns his attention to the dining room’s fireplace-- many more duck statues of various types and sizes taking residence there, some cartoonier than others.

“You’ve noticed, have ya? Aren’t they darling?” He puffs up some, his following words a contradiction to his delight . “I’ll admit, got a bit of a problem: real hoarder when it comes to ‘em. If I see a duck, I feel the rightful urge to buy ‘em and add them with the other ducklings.”

Jervis, very much aware of his own Alice obsession, found himself nodding in understanding.

“I’m sure they must feel grateful for it, knowing they have an owner that clearly cares about them.”

“That’s what I like to think!” Vernon agrees, finding himself leaving his seat as he waddles over to pick up one of the figurines-- [this one only vaguely fowl shaped, and Jervis would have only guessed it and the other that clearly matches the set were ducks just from the yellow dab of paint on its ceramic face.](http://www.cyberattic.com/stores/sherrysantiques/items/792900/Rio-Hondo-Ma-Pa-duck-figurines) “They all got memories attached to 'em, you know? Like Ma and Pa here were picked up from the local antique shop when we went visitin’ the missus’ relations in West Virginia. Why, I bet I could tell ya a story for every single one of ‘em. Coral thinks it’s a little ridiculous, but I remind her it isn’t so much different from her scrapbookin’!”

Crane watched the two converse, chewing slowly, eyes cold yet glinting, not unlike that of a stalking cat. He swallowed and, thinking little of it, or perhaps knowing very well his intentions, added his input on the matter.

“Hm. _ Funny _ how we cling to such trivial things, in a vain attempt to hold on to fleeting memories, stolen from us by the cruel and inescapable clutches of age, _ isn’t it _?”

Vernon stared at Crane for a while, unsmiling, and it filled Crane with a morbid sort of glee. This glee was short lived, however, as the old man smiled, chuckled, and nodded, pointing at Crane.

“You’ve got the ‘ol fuzzy brain, too? Gosh! I’d have thought you were a bit too young for that!”

Crane’s smirk fell back into an annoyed scowl. “Thank you.” He muttered.

Jervis gave his partner a sympathetic look, laying a hand on top of his. _Poor dear._ It couldn’t be helped when some people were **too** optimistic-- too willing to see the positive that they refused to see an obvious attempt at getting under their skin.

The Englishman decided to steer the conversation away from his Hare, gesturing back towards the ducks on the mantle. 

“I see a very recognisable sailor amongst the others. Pray tell, what sort of memory is connected to **that** one?”

And thus Mr. Duckworth carried on, talking about different trips he and his wife had gone on over the years. Though, of course, not all were memorabilia of vacations past, some stories were far more simple. Such as their monthly visit to Trader Joe’s, and the type of bartering he went through-- as if the old man was trading baseball cards instead of buying miscellaneous figurines.

It was in the midst of explaining the behavioral habits of Mandarin ducks, that Coral popped her head out of the kitchen.

“Vern, you stop harassing those boys with your silly stories and come help me set the table.”

“Ah, allow me.” Jervis interjected, getting up from his seat. “It’s the least I can do, after all.”

Mrs. Duckworth seemed unsure.

“Well… if you’re **sure**, dear. I wouldn’t want to put you to work when you’re a **paid guest.**”

“Oh, I **insist**, _I assure you._”

The Englishman’s air of politeness was more so covering the fact he wished to escape the meandering of mallards. And the snort Tetch heard from his partner told him he had caught it. Jervis smiled as he placed a hand onto the back of the woman, encouraging her to lead the way.

* * *

Many more stories were shared over a delightful dinner, most of which Jonathan was completely tuned out of, opting to enjoy his meal in ignorant silence instead. One detail **did** manage to grab his attention, however: the mention of and invitation to, a contra dance session taking place at their barn the next day. Crane’s gaze snapped up to Coral as she said this, over to Jervis, and then back to his own plate. He had a feeling that was something Jervis would very much like to attend; but, to his surprise, his partner in crime promptly, _but politely_, declined the offer as, “they had already made plans to see a show”.

Crane couldn’t help but smile at this, Jervis’ sense of dedication and loyalty **touching**. He wasn’t used to that level of determined focus from someone he wasn’t paying.

This feeling of satisfied fondness lingered, even as dinner was finished-- compliments and appreciation for the home cooked meal expressed. The two said their good nights, and retired back up the stairs for bed.

Jervis closed the door softly behind them both, sighing slightly as he relaxed his posture. It was obvious that, while he had **enjoyed** himself, conversing with their hosts had taken a toll on his energy.

That, however, didn’t seem to deter him from talking to his partner-in-crime as he went to fetch his nightgown from the bottom drawer.

“I hope you don’t mind the excuse I used, Jonathan. I figured, with our plans, it would be best to set up a **reasonable** alibi.” At this the Englishman tutted. “A bit of a shame we aren’t actually seeing a play. They’re performing ‘_ Not About Nightingales _’ at the Wireless. **STILL**, _the show must go on,_ you know.”

For one split, disorienting moment, Jonathan thought to say to Hell with their plans, they should go and see the show, after all. It was fleeting, however, and was quickly shoved aside-- leaving Crane with a feeling of appalled confusion. It was true love made one do stupid things, but there was no reason to act a fool about it. He ** _needed _ **those chemicals, and they wouldn’t get a better chance than tomorrow to retrieve them.

“Yes, indeed.” Came Crane’s reply, perhaps a bit delayed, as he bent to grab his own sleeping attire from his bag. “A fitting excuse, I imagine.”

Hatter carried on, as if there hadn’t been a delay at all. Arms full of his nightclothes and toothbrush, it would have seemed strange to anyone else how **easily** the man mixed criminal plans with the mundane.

“You needn’t worry about having to wake up early tomorrow, dear. No reason to have you break your sleep schedule three days in a row-- when we will need to be up and ready before noon to check out on Sunday. We’ll go into town for brunch tomorrow, _peruse a few local **bookstores**_,” this was said with a pointed look of tenderness towards Crane. While they both enjoyed their literature, the Master of Fear’s collection was ten-fold his own-- making Jonathan the true **bibliophile** of the two. 

The Englishman continued his list.

“Enjoy some of the scenery of Centennial Park to rest for a bit-- if we’re peckish we’ll consider lunch. Pick up the tickets and playbill to solidify our whereabouts this evening, any last minute shopping that we may require for later that night. Dinner, and then swing by the Inn to pick up our things before heading towards S.T.A.R. Labs.” 

Jervis finished this with a soft sigh, taking a moment to catch his breath. He fixed his gaze on Jonathan once more. 

“_Does that sound satisfactory?_ It’s not every day we’re allowed to roam the streets with a semblance of ease, and I thought we should take the opportunity to enjoy a bit of our time away before getting on with business. And of course you can take away or add things to our outing depending on your mood and what we see in Metropolis. _All planning on my part aside_, this is all for **you**\-- thus your feelings get **top billing** on the matter.”

The sigh Crane gave was too light to have been born of fatigue or silent resignation. A day about a city who expected nothing of them sounded ... nice. A day of pretend, finished off with a healthy dose of reality. Yes, it certainly sounded like the perfect day. He found himself quite looking forward to more than just his chemicals, fancy that.

“Yes, that sounds fine, rather _nice_, actually.” Crane sat on the bed, his nightshirt in his lap.

Jervis shifts his things to one arm, his left hand free. It was with absolute care and gentleness that he allowed himself the indulgence to brush away red fringe off of Jonathan’s brow. 

“Good,” Tetch murmured, “then it’s a **date**.” 

Hatter straightened himself up, though he didn't lose his air of fondness even as he carried on with his night routine. 

“Now, if there are any other matters that require a discussion, I’m afraid it must wait until **after** I’ve finished changing.”Jervis gestured his head towards the bathroom door, a silent request to take temporary claim. “Do you **mind**, love?”

Asking permission to leave, _how ridiculous._ Despite this thought, and despite knowing Jervis was merely being polite, it provided Crane with a sense of smug power he didn’t at all mind. He told Jervis to go on ahead and, as soon as the bathroom door had closed behind him, Crane removed his pants and replaced his shirt with an undershirt. He then reclined atop the covers, clad in an undershirt and boxers, socks that stopped half way up his calves. He stared up at the ceiling, and sighed again.

Crane lay there, in a mood that was decidedly **unfit** for the public. The end of a long and eventful day, time alone, hours in a vehicle right next to the man he felt affection for. The comfort this place provided, excitement over the day to come, Jervis’ small gestures of affection. It had all culminated into this: a calm, yet electric, amorous mood.

“Well ... we ** _could_ ** .” He told the ceiling with a bashful smile, coyly averting his eyes away, despite him being the only one in the room. They had, thus far, despite being together, not engaged in any, _ sexual intimacy. _ Why not now, the night before a big heist--a room completely to themselves-- miles away from the threat of Batman interrupting them? Now, he just needed to get his point across. It would be simple just to ask, but Jervis Tetch was the type to prefer a more, _ romantic _approach.

Perhaps he should ... lay differently? Was there a, designated coitus pose he should try? A pose that said, I am ready and awaiting sexual intercourse if you are so inclined? Crane sat up, drew his knees up, and spread them-- made a face, and promptly closed them. No, that was... far too brash.

Next, he lay on his side, facing the bathroom door, head propped up in his hand-- _no._ He felt ridiculous. In the end, he settled for laying on his stomach, head cradled in both hands, knees bent up behind him. Yes! This felt right. He lay there, smiling, staring at the bathroom door, waiting with perhaps far more confidence than was necessary or earned.

It wasn’t too much longer afterwards that Crane was rewarded with the sound of running water being shut off. A few more shuffling from beyond the door, and then the arrival of Jervis Tetch from the restroom-- fully adorned in his many layers, eyes closed as he started conversing once more.

“Ah, now that’s **much** better. _Clean as a whistle._” The smile on his face dropped the moment he opened his eyes, taking in the form of his partner spread out upon the bed-- focus completely on him. The Englishman blinked a few times, letting out a surprised: “Oh! … Hello. _Is something amiss_, Jonathan?”

Jonathan’s smile slipped ... alright. Asking outright it was. He sat up for this, however, as laying like that wasn’t being kind to his back.

“Well, I was _ thinking _ , it isn’t **often ** we find ourselves in a position or place where the Batman can’t, burst in and interrupt an, _ intimate moment _between the two of us.”

Crane lifted a brow, cocked his head to the side, and held out a welcoming hand.

“_ Shall we take this opportunity to, _ ** _make love_ ** _ ? _”

It was… interesting to see the color drain from the Englishman’s face-- staring at the professor as if he was a deer caught in the headlights. Just as soon as the color drained, it returned in full force. Face flushed, Jonathan watched as Jervis seemed to come back to the moment.

“You… you would want to…?” Jervis stammered; his eyes going from Crane to his hand, to the wall- not seeming to be able to settle on one place for long in his nervousness. Jonathan would have found it amusing seeing the man fidget so, if it hadn’t been attached to something so… _ intimate. _ Tetch continued making an attempt at speaking, words tumbling out of him before he could seem to properly grasp at a finished coherent thought.

“I… This is certainly **very flattering** . And you, you should **know** I consider you _ very handsome _ . It’s just, and.. _ And so sudden _ …” The Englishman fumbled slightly, catching himself on the door-frame for stability. “I… _ I believe I need to _ ** _sit down_ ** _ . _”

Jonathan ran through a multitude of emotions: confusion, surprise, insulted, and then worry, all in the span of a few seconds. He was off the bed and by Jervis’ side before he’d made a fully conscious decision to do so, doing what he could to steady the man.

_ “I’ll take that as a no. _” Crane muttered as he helped Jervis to the bed. The word “Genophobia” sprang up in Crane’s mind, and his instant reaction to it was disappointed dread, followed closely by guilt, and finally resignation. 

“Thank you,” Jervis said once seated on the bed. His hand went to his chest, no doubt his attempt to slow down the frantic pacing of his heart. Jonathan watched as his partner took in a deep breath, collecting himself before speaking.

“I… **apologise** for my reaction: I promise you it has nothing to do with..._ well, _ you really **did** catch me off guard, you know!” Tetch laughed, an awkward sounding thing. He at least had enough awareness of this that he instantly cleared his throat. “Sorry,” another murmur, “I… don’t think I have the **energy** for, _that is to say_… May we… be close in **other** ways tonight, Jonathan?”

The Englishman went to grab at one of Crane’s hands, lips pressed against his knuckles in a chaste kiss. Jervis looked up at the man standing in front of him, eyes beseeching and forlorn.

“_ Please? _”

“_ Yes, of course... _ ” Crane sighed and rolled his eyes. “It was merely a _ suggestion _.” His expression softened, that shy smile from earlier returning and his eyes shifting elsewhere as he added,

“I suppose a _ cuddle _ would be ** just** as satisfactory.”

Perhaps Jervis wasn’t genophobic, after all. Perhaps it really had simply been poor timing and execution. And, perhaps, he’d get to try again, some other time, when the mood was right for **both** of them.

The look of relief on Jervis’ face was instant, tension melting away at the positive affirmation of still being wanted-- even if not in the original suggested way. Lights were turned off for the night, and both men climbing into bed and under the quilted covers. It was the Englishman who reach out to his partner first, gently stroking Jonathan’s arm as he bestowed verbal sentiments one after another. 

_ “I’m so very pleased to have you in my life, love.”_  
  
_ “I absolutely _**adore** you.”  
_  
“You bring so much joy to this _poor old hatter._”_

It wasn’t sex, **sure.** Yet: Jonathan Crane couldn’t find himself _displeased_ with the turn of events-- falling asleep to such tenderness and warmth so unfitting to a man like him.


End file.
